


Some Things Just Make Sense

by ashinatrashcan



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Song fic, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, count the cliches, dan is grumpy, phil is a cereal thief
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-02
Updated: 2018-06-02
Packaged: 2019-05-17 04:53:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14825642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashinatrashcan/pseuds/ashinatrashcan
Summary: Dan wakes up to no cereal, but nostalgia gets in the way of his grump.





	Some Things Just Make Sense

Dan rubs his knuckles over his face with a little more force than is necessary. His gaze trails over the brightly-coloured boxes in the cupboard again. And again. He must be imagining things. He’s that sleep deprived that his eyes are just not functioning yet. There is no other explanation as to why he can’t find his Cinnamon Toast Crunch in the cereal lineup. _Unless..._

He squints, spinning around to scan the countertops. Low and behold, a familiar blue and white box is sitting beside the kettle, several metres from where he left it. 

“I swear to god, Phil...” he mutters under his breath, stalking up to the box and grabbing it. It feels suspiciously lighter than it did the morning before, and Dan’s worst fears are confirmed the moment he upturns it. A pitiful ‘plink-plink’ rings through the kitchen as the bowl gets a dusting of cinnamon sugar, a few crumbs, and-

 “Five?!” Dan’s yell pierces the quiet of the house. “Five measly fucking cinnamon toasts?! Phil!” The muffled sound of running water ceases immediately. There is a moment of quiet that feels strangely like someone holding their breath.

“Phil, get your arse down here, or I swear to god your favourite cactus is gonna get a healthy dose of weed killer!” Dan calls, agitatedly tapping his spoon against the bowl. There’s a flicker of a thought that he might be overreacting, but the anticipation for that tooth-rottingly sweet, cinnamon flavoured milk is the _only_ reason he crawled out of his cosy blanket burrito. He is _riled_.

There is a soft creak on the stairs, and a dark head peeks around the corner of the door. Phil’s eyebrows are drawn together, and he kicks his foot against the doorframe, looking for all the world like a guilty kid who knows he’s about to be grounded.

“I was hoping you’d go for the granola and I could replace the cinnamons in the shopping today so you’d be none the wiser,” Phil mumbles, apology written all over his face, but there is a hint of amusement in the set of his mouth that Dan doubts anyone but him would recognise.

Dan lets out an exasperated sigh, opens his mouth –– and then he pauses. His mouth snaps closed. He watches the foot knocking into the wooden frame, clad in a purple pizza-patterned sock. Follows the long line of a leg, up to the hip leaning against the wall. His eyes trace the faded Muse concert t-shirt, the one Phil had paid an obscene amount for as a gift for Dan.

His gaze reaches Phil’s face. There’s a fleck of toothpaste on his lower lip, a faint pillow crease on his pale cheek. His beautiful eyes are a vivid blue in the late-morning light. There is a touch of darkness beneath the black frames of his glasses, a reminder of the late night they had, watching a new anime in bed until the early hours of the morning.

A strange sense of calm has fallen over Dan, and he lets his eyes travel all the way back down to that stupid purple sock, and then up again. He meets Phil’s eyes, which are looking rather confused and a little concerned. 

“Uh, Dan?” Phil prompts, his voice hesitantly curious. Dan ignores him.

His stomach is twisting strangely. For a second he’s a teenager again, so utterly infatuated that he sleepwalked through every day, consumed by thoughts of spotty Skype connections and blue eyes. He almost expects to blink and see a younger Phil standing before him, all lanky limbs and long hair.

That concert feels like it was a lifetime ago, but he can still keenly feel his heart thrumming in time to the speakers, the electricity of holding Phil’s fingers between his in the darkness of the mosh pit, the pure rush of seeing his favourite band with his favourite person. That magnetic push and pull of new love is impossible to forget. He smiles despite himself, and now Phil looks downright scared.

“Was this the final straw? You’re looking at me like you’ve decided on a very creative way to murder me and dispose of my body,” Phil tilts his head to one side, watching Dan almost as intensely as Dan is looking at him.

“The Muse shirt,” Dan finally responds, taking a step toward him. Phil glances down, taking the hem between his fingers and rubbing gently.

Dan’s right in front of him now, reaching out to gently wipe the spot of toothpaste from his mouth, letting his thumb linger against Phil’s lower lip. Phil smiles bemusedly, more than a little puzzled, but resting his hands on Dan’s hips all the same.

“The Muse shirt?” Phil repeats, running a hand gently up Dan’s spine and down again. “One second you’re loudly threatening planticide and now you’re staring at me like you’ve never seen me before and talking about my clothes.” Dan shakes his head faintly, his eyes full of an unexpected softness when they meet Phil’s.

“You drive me fucking nuts, but shit, I just... really like you today,” Dan finishes lamely. He’s unable to resist the urge to press a kiss beside the spot where his thumb rests.

Phil laughs, the bright surprised sound filling the kitchen with warmth, and tugs Dan in for a proper kiss. It tastes like toothpaste, slightly sloppy as Phil’s still giggling. His fingers brush Dan’s cheek gently as he pulls back.

“You _like_ me? Do you... _like_ -like me?” Phil’s eyes are huge, his voice high pitched and quivering with a suppressed laugh. Dan groans, attempting to shove a chuckling Phil off him. His cheeks feel warm.

“Fuck off,” he snorts, crossing his arms to block Phil’s advances. “You’re lucky I even put up with you,” Dan remarks, trying to hide the smile creeping across his face, and Phil hums, leaning in to press his lips against Dan’s again.

“Lucky indeed,” he giggles, giving the kiss too much teeth, and Dan pushes him away again, but this time his hands linger against Phil’s chest.

“Shut up, you thieving rat. Don’t think I’ve forgotten about the cereal. You’d better get started on the apology pancakes before my blood sugar drops and I hulk out on you.” Phil presses one last kiss to Dan’s cheek, giving his ass a quick squeeze as he pulls away.

Dan leans against the counter as he watches Phil pulling ingredients out of the pantry. He hates the tiny smile that is spreading across his face, and he loathes the knowing look Phil shoots over his shoulder.

“I fucking hate you,” Dan assures his partner, venomous words slightly ruined by the uncontrollable tone of adoration in his voice.

~

_Some things just make sense, and one of those is you and I._

**Author's Note:**

> (Inspired very vaguely by 'Still Into You' by Paramore.) 
> 
> Let’s play ‘count the clichés’. Phil is a cereal thief? Check. Dan is a nostalgic motherfucker? Check. Fluff that would probably make both Dan + Phil gag? Double check! A writer posting something that’s been sitting unfinished + unloved on their computer for months? Uh... check. 
> 
> Thanks for reading. Tumblr: ashinatrashcan


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